


Bit's and Bob's

by Ohtd_luv4ever



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: 30's nightclub au, Angst, Attempted Rape, Attempted Sexual Assault, Chanteuse Marianne, Dabbles, F/M, Fluff, Human AU, Human Bog, Human Marianne, Implied Noncon, Minor Character Death, Mob Boss Bog, Non-Graphic Violence, Potionless time, Selkie au added!, Torture, because Bog is far too hard on himself, bits and bobs from many au's, butterfly bog angst, christmas time people, dance au, have some pain, humanityinahandbag's Oc Clover makes an appearance, little fic one shots, more to come - Freeform, odd job au, sassy Marianne is taking no bullshit, spicy salsa, there is blood though, you don't mess with marianne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohtd_luv4ever/pseuds/Ohtd_luv4ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of little one shots originally posted to tumblr.<br/>ch1: Love in Motion<br/>ch2: Just Wanted<br/>ch3: Wild Side<br/>ch4: Cracked Glass<br/>ch5: Supermarket's and Sunshine<br/>ch6: Carols through the walls<br/>ch7: Don't go where I can't follow<br/>ch8: Blood and Lipstick Stains. (set in 30's nightclub au by suzie-guru on tumblr)<br/>ch9: Waltzing the Waves part 1</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love in Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoy these! As I write more they will find themselves shuttled off to here as well. Some are not beta'd so any mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr here! http://ohtd-love-forever.tumblr.com/ For art, sneak peeks into fic's ect.

 

“I am Not dancing with her.”

Brenn “Bog” Dahrfen fairly loomed over his supposed new partner. Even with the slight advantage that the steps gave the woman, putting the top of her head at the same level as his nose, he was almost a full head taller than her. A petite but lithely muscled frame and bold eyeshadow caught his gaze as the dancer gave the newcomer a once over. He wasn’t impressed. If it wasn’t for the ‘bite me’ emblazoned in harsh lettering across the front of her crop tank top and the equally surely expression on her face, he would have pegged the woman for one of the diva’s he had to deal with from other companies.

For her part, Marianne was more bewildered than angry, but she had been told before that her default expression seemed to shift to ‘resting bitch face’ more often than not when she wasn’t sure how to respond to a situation. The man before her classified as an unknown, that was for sure. He was rail thin, with wide shoulders and a dusting of stubble across his cheeks. His nose was prominent, and his cheekbones looked like they could cut glass. His eyes were also the brightest blue that she had ever seen. His height was almost comical, Marianne nearly had to crane her head back to look him in the eye.

Her new dance partner had a towel slung around his shoulders and a light sheen of sweat on what exposed skin was visible. It was clear to her that she had interrupted whatever practice he had been engaging in. Spiky half swept back hair, a brownish grey in color caught her eye as he combed one of his hands through the mess, further disheveling his appearance and with a start, the woman found herself comparing the taller man with a pinecone. He certainly looked prickly enough.

“Bog sweetie, why don’t you give her a chance. Miss Marianne is the best dancer from the Light Fen Company and they have graciously agreed to do a collaboration for the next production with us.”

A deep scowl replaced the frown on Bog’s face and he shook his head, Griselda just didn’t know when to quit. His grip on his water bottle tightened as his irritation started to grow. Not only had his practice been interrupted, now he had to deal with another one of the women his mother had brought to try and tempt him with. He was a solo or a group dancer. He didn’t Do duets. His mother knew this, but still insisted on trying to pair him off with every new hire she could find. It was highly irritating.

“No.”

A snort drew his attention an instant later and he turned to where the woman was now stretching her limbs out by the mirrors. His eyes swept over her body, looking for any sign of unbalance or unnecessary tension in the posture that could affect her movements. When he found none, Bog turned his gaze up to her face.

“I’m not any happier about this than you are Mr. Ichabod, trust me. But I promised my sister I would come and do a practice with you. I’ve seen your work, its good. But you could do better.”

Bog felt his temper begin to boil at her words. He knew that he was tall, knew that he was thin. It had been pointed out by multiple people over the years by bullies and well intentioned aunts. The reference to the old story book character was original though he would give her that. What really incensed him though was the remark about his skill. He could do Better? His teeth made an audible grinding noise as he marched over to the woman, using his height to hover over her threateningly. When the dancer didn’t even bat an eyelash a grudging respect started to kindle in his stomach, but the glower didn’t lessen one bit.

“What do you mean…princess.”

He could tell the nickname irked her, but a smirk tugged at Marianne’s lips in response to his jab. She straightened up from her bent position, leaning back against the metal bar that ran the length of the room.

“I’m just saying I was expecting… more from someone with your reputation. Your style works better when there are two people. One session. If we still hate this just as much as when we walked in we can honestly say we gave it a try and no one can bitch at us about it again.”

The challenge in her golden brown eyes was contagious. Bog felt an answering smirk starting to replace the sneer on his face, and he twisted his neck around to give it a crack before he stepped back out of her personal space and settled into a far less antagonistic position.

“Fine. Show me what you’ve got…tough girl.”  

A dark purple i-pod made its way out of the pocket in her pants and got tossed to Griselda, who started shifting through the playlist labeled ‘duets’. A smile crossed the woman’s face as she plugged the device in, and with a start Bog recognized the first few bars of a song he really shouldn’t have been surprised that the other dancer used. Beautiful Crime filled the room as Marianne took her stance at the middle of the floor. All at once she burst into motion, rolling her shoulders and taking two quick steps forward. Her arms raised, hands in graceful arches as she pivoted in a classic ballet pirouette.

All at once she seemed to crumple and Bog nearly started forward to catch her despite himself, only to see how controlled the decent was as she landed in a position reminiscent of a dropped doll.  Her legs swept around under her body, one hand trailing the floor as she lifted herself and swung in his direction smoothly. Automatically Bog was reaching for her, the slender hand fit inside his own larger palm with surprising ease.

He drew her close as she stepped in, his arm curling around her shoulders and her free hand pressed to his chest for an instant before she was pushing off to dip back, only their fingertips keeping her from pitching back into the floor. Bog felt his body starting to remember the flow of a two person dance now as he pulled her back and hooked one of his arms under her knees.

He swung the slighter female up and over his shoulder in a smooth motion, her upper body hanging over his back as he turned in place. He leaned to one side, letting her roll off him as his hand caught her waist so she didn’t hit the floor too hard. Golden brown eyes flashed up at him from where he peered down at her, the respect and growing enthusiasm pushing his own ambition to higher heights. If she wanted more, she would get it.

Bog took a few steps back, his arms spreading wide and legs bending as he did his own pivot. He swung his whole body back when he came up, allowing himself to fall sideways but catching his palms on the ground with his legs straight. Marianne was suddenly there in his face, arms winding around his neck and knees tucked under his ribs. Pushing off from the floor, Bog gathered his legs and shoved hard, springing the both of them back into an upright position.

Before she could fall, his hand was at the small of her back, and she was leaning into the touch, letting her arms drape behind her as her body arched up and her legs extended behind his back. Bog spun her to his opposite hip then, forearm catching her calves and lowering her upper body to the floor. They stared at each other for a single moment, breathing heavy before Marianne dropped herself the rest of the way and curled into herself, rolling over to get more space before she popped up again.

The song was starting to come to an end now as she placed one foot in front of the other; her arms held in a loose circle in front of her and held the pose. When she began to run at him, Bog braced himself against the floor and raised his hands, his eyes widening when the slight woman performed a truly impressive leap off the floor, her arms flung wide in an imitation of wings as she fell into his arms. Bog fell with her, landing on his knees as her body bowed in a graceful arc against the floor and her face became pressed into the cook of his neck.

There was silence then, the song’s last notes fading away and the two dancers were jolted from the stillness of the moment by a furious round of applause. Startled, they separated quickly, looking up to see that they had gathered an audience while they had danced. Dawn was practically vibrating with excitement as she stared at her sister and Griselda had tears in her eyes.  

Marianne felt her face flush heavily, and a peek out of the corner of her eye told her that Bog wasn’t faring any better. They caught each other’s gaze a moment later and the woman gave a rueful smile.

“Not bad. I think this could work. What do you say…partner.”

Bog extended his hand, staunchly ignoring his mother’s repeated whispers of ‘finally’ as he grasped the smaller palm of his new duet partner in his own rough mitt. He hadn’t enjoyed a dance like that in a long time, and he didn’t mind admitting that he was wrong to himself.

“This could be an…adventure.”


	2. Just Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in humanityinahandbag's Clover realm! Check her out on Tumblr she is amazing.

 

The Bog King is lucky that his legs have enough sensitivity to feel the light repetitive tapping against the rough skin of his calf. The goblin needed to turn halfway around to peer down at where the sensation was originating, but instead of it being one of his more irksome subjects or a stray vine, the earnest and innocent face of Clover peered up at him. In an instant Bog’s expression softened, his daughter was prone to coming to visit him during the day, with or without her babysitters knowledge. Before the king could greet his pint sized child however the fairy spoke up, holding her arms over her head demandingly.  

“Up!”

Bog chuckled and obliged his princess, scooping the wee thing up carefully into his arms. Stubbs hung from one of Clover’s hands as her father lifted her from the ground, the well patched toy finding its way into the fairies lap as she settled herself comfortably. 

“Hello wee one, did you need something?” 

Clover smiled at her father and nodded eagerly. 

“Yes.” 

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Bog raised an eyebrow and gave her a mock stern expression. 

“Well what is it?” 

The child giggled then, clutching her toy to her chest and squirming in some private delight. The gleam of mischief in her eyes was only mildly alarming to the goblin king, after all he was fairly used to her shenanigans by now. 

“I need to be closer to tell you!” 

Shifting his grip, Bog raised the small fairy up so that her face was level with his, earning an even sunnier smile from his daughter when he complied with her request. 

“Better?” 

Instead of answering, Clover wound one of her tiny hands around the back of her fathers neck and gave a great tug, forcing his head down just a few inches. Once he was in range the fairy struck, her lips pressing into the prominent nose in a noisy smooch. Bog was dumbfounded, his brain short circuiting as a wave of love threatened to overwhelm him. Clover, unaware of her parents teetering emotional stability simply smiled again. 

“I just wanted to give you a kiss!” 

From the doorway to the council room Marianne watched the scene fondly. The stunned, blank faced expression on her goblins face was a familiar sight to her, but Clover was obviously confused by her fathers lack of reaction and started waving her hand in front of his face. 

“Clover dear I think you may have broken him. Don’t worry, I know how to get him started up again.” 

The crown princess of the Fairy Kingdom strode forward then, cupping Bog’s cheek when she got close enough and turned his face to give him a proper kiss. Sure enough the glazed over look in the goblin’s blue eyes faded away as he processed the second act of affection. A rose red blush filled his grey cheeks even as he kissed his love back, the gentle hold he had on his daughter never faltering.  

Bog pressed his forehead to Marianne’s tenderly after the kiss broke a few moments later before turning to bestow a kiss to Clovers brow as well. His voice was rough and thickened in his brogue when he spoke. 

“Thank ye Clover, Ah’m glad ya whanted teh come see meh just fer tha’ “

Marianne huffed a laugh, lightly smacking his shoulder plates fondly. She loved her goblin king, his wonder at being shown that he was cared for never failed to make her heart ache just a little though. 

“You dork. Come on, lunch is ready. Take a break and eat with us.” 

Bog nodded and free’d one arm to wrap around Marianne’s waist, the three leaving behind the paperwork to wait for when there wasn’t a fairy child to distract the king with her kisses.


	3. Wild Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the amazing artwork of thechickwiththesketchbook. She is.....beyond words at how gorgeously talented and detailed her drawings are. Anyway take this angst ficlet.

 

The first thing that his blurred vision could make sense of when the haze faded was red. It was pooled in little puddles around his fingers, spattered over his hands and he could taste iron in his mouth. Heaving, shuddering breaths shook his tall frame, wings buzzing off and on sporadically as the adrenalin crash hit. The goblin was hunched nearly in half, lanky body curled into a feral crouch that gave him the best leverage to spring at his prey.

Blinking a few times didn’t fully clear his thoughts, so he shook his head. The feeling of sticky droplets flying away from his face only deepened the confusion he felt. Why was there so much blood on him? Trying to piece together what had happened, Bog released a frustrated snarl. The sound prompted an unexpected response, and the dry sob jerked his focus into sharp relief.  The king’s eyes darted up and zeroed in on the individual who had made the noise, and the sight before him made his heart quake in his chest.

Marianne stared, horrorstruck at the scene before her. Her eyes couldn’t seem to look away from the bright crimson staining her goblin’s hands. The dark claws were completely coated, sunk into the earth and surrounded by a growing circle. The snarl he released jolted the fairy and she instinctively flinched back, pressing herself further into the tree root that she had backed into to avoid being struck.

Her breathing was shallow and panicked as she locked eyes with the finally unclouded blue of her lover. She could see his emotions race across the expressive orbs in quick succession, confusion and concern being the foremost present. The princess could tell that he hadn’t realized…maybe didn’t remember what had happened but the thought didn’t do much to calm her racing heart.  Every old lesson she had been taught about goblins dictating them as monsters in the dark was screaming at the front of her mind, clouding out the far more rational Marianne that had come to accept the dark forest and its inhabitants.

She swallowed heavily, her wings nearly vibrating behind her with the urge to just Fly; to fly and run and escape the threat before her. Marianne knew the instant that Bog finally processed that it was Him making her react this way. His expression crumpled, confusion giving way to horror and concern to fear. The goblin jerked, his shaking body trying to move itself forward in an aborted attempt that was reminiscent to the utterly savage reaction he had shown not ten minutes earlier. The sharp movement made the instinctual panic inside the fairy attempt to put more distance between her and the perceived danger and the royal skittered backward another foot or so into the tangle of roots.

Bog’s whole being froze at the sight of his love fleeing from him with terror in her eyes and written over her normally so fierce face. When a trembling hand still dripping in red graced the edge of his peripheral vision the goblin twitched, gaze switching down to the appendages that were still hooked into a dangerous configuration of locked joints.

Disjointed images slowly began to filter in, echoes of snarling, of flesh and metal rending beneath his strength and a cacophony of screams. Nausea began to churn in Bog’s gut as he began to piece together what had happened. He had been fighting his instincts for weeks; that was what had started the downward spiral. It was fall; the time when all goblins base desires to mate and claim and protect became so much stronger than they usually were. The king had been spending as much time with his fairy love as possible, hoping to appease the urges in a different manner than he was used to seeing his subjects take care of things. The whispers from the fairy people that he had been informed of had urged him to try and make the effort. Now however the gossipers had only been proven right.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bog could see a crumpled and mangled form carelessly tossed into the shadow of a bush. He had been on his way to see Marianne for a spar, his blood burning hot and fast in his veins. The physical exertion with her was the only way that he had been able to keep his more savage urges under control for nearly the last month, but the further it got into the season the worse his symptoms were getting. He had only been in this strange and wonderful relationship with the princess since the tail end of spring, precious few months of time that he had cherished with all his heart. Now however he could nearly see the pieces of what they had been dashed and crushed into the dust before him.

A wet, choking sob wrenched its way out of his throat when his raised hand and whispered plea of her name sent the fairy flinching further away from him. Bog felt as though some tether had been cut, leaving him floundering and lost as his whole body simply seemed to give up. He slumped, knees hitting the ground and whole frame curling in on itself in an attempt to make him smaller, less of a threat. His palms were sticky when he crushed them to his face, thick wet droplets mingling with the tears that began to leak out around his fingers where they were pressed into his eyes.

He could see it now in his memories, the horror he had committed. Giving credence and proof and vindication for every hurtful snide and cruel comment he had ever heard hurled at him when he visited the light fields. Monster they had called him. Beast and savage. And truly now he was. With blood on his hands and coating his throat from where he had ripped apart the one who dared to touch his mate without her consent. Only Marianne was not his mate, not in the truest sense of the word. They had done nothing but kiss and cuddle in the months that they had been together. Neither had wanted to push anything, too happy to explore the new and wonderful relationship that had been growing between them.

Oh what a hypocrite he was, shredding the flesh of the idiot who had been pushing himself into the royal’s space with his talons until the screaming stopped and his senses told him the threat was no more, only to turn and try to trap the small fairy beneath his bloodied frame. He had been so far gone into the fall madness, so intent on getting his scent on her to warn others away that he had not registered her words as a rebuttal until her fist had cracked into his jaw.

The weight of what he had done was crushing and the goblin sunk even further into the ground as a pitiful, anguish filled moan broke free from his chest. His whole body began to quiver, one fist pulling away to slam into the ground punishingly. His voice was wrecked and thick with tears and shame as he repeated a phrase over and over again, not noticing that his fairy was slowly making her way back to where the distraught goblin knelt in the blood spattered earth.

“Ah’m sorry……Ah’m so sorry luv…”

The softest of touches to his clawed digits was like a jolt of electricity. Bog gasped and his head jerked up, staring at the pale but determined face of his princess where she was hovering in front of him. When his second hand was captured, the goblin didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. He could only stare silently as Marianne lifted the blood spattered, rough appendages in her own smaller ones, staining her skin as she pressed a tender kiss to his knobby knuckles one by one.

The king flinched each time. He Knew how close he had come to hurting her when she had dragged him away from the body. Knew how much she must fear those wicked talons at that moment and yet here she was, holding the very weapons that had just caused so much destruction. When the only response he could give was a rasping little whimper the fairy let her captives go, red smudged palms reaching up to cup the goblin’s spattered cheeks. Her touch was an anchor, a life line in the sea of his guilt and Bog tried to shake free, knowing that he was undeserving of such a grace.  

“Hey….I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t try to say that it was alright or that anything was fine. That would be lying and Marianne wouldn’t ever lie to her king. Her fear was fading, replaced by sorrow for her goblin love. She knew how hard he had been trying to make sure that her father had nothing to worry about when it came to him. He was Always careful when they touched, never let her get hurt when they sparred though neither of them held back. The king was surprisingly gentle when you got past the layers of grumpiness and protective anger. She had never seen him like that before, primal and beyond communication. Nor had she ever witnessed him so wrecked because of his actions and the fairy never wanted to see it again.

Bog shook his head, tears still spilling down his cheeks as he avoided her gaze. The tenderness in her eyes was too much for him. He was afraid if he looked too closely the fear from before would be lurking in the golden depths. He managed to find his voice again, his heart creaking and groaning, threatening to break for a second time as he tried to warn her away.

“Go. Please luv….ye need to get back. I’ll hurt ye…”

If anything the plea only pushed the princess closer. Slowly she leaned her head in, lips seeking his bloodied ones in the softest of kisses even as she felt him tremble under her. It wasn’t until he kissed her back that she relaxed, slotting her mouth over his and coaxing him into continuing the motion. After several long moments the fairy pulled away, her eyes burning as she looked into remorseful blue. Her voice was strong and steady, the tone one she used on stubborn council and her father when he was being particularly worried over nothing. It was a no backchat sort of voice and the fairy was going to use it to the fullest to get her goblin to listen to her.

“You would Never hurt me. Whatever stupid self-hatred thoughts are running around in your skull right now need to vacate because I’m not allowing them to stay. Yes you scared me. I’ve never seen that part of you before. But here’s the thing you ridiculous idiot. I love you. And that isn’t going to change just because you show me a part of yourself that I’m not used to. I’m not going to leave, I’m not going to just drop you like last year’s apples. Yes were going to have to deal with this, but don’t you for one second believe that I’m going to let you keep thinking that I hate you or fear your touch or anything else like that. Got it?”

The only response that Bog could give, watching his fairy with her blood smeared lips and the burning eyes as she refuted every fear that had been growing in his heart since fall started was collapse against her with a silent shudder. The goblin buried his face in her neck, his arms wrapping around the slender frame as tightly as he dared.  Slowly his breathing started to regulate, the tears drying up and giving way to a less obvious expression of grief. The feeling of her tender fingers twining around the rough edges of his scalp and around his chest as she gathered him close nearly undid his fragile control once more.

“Ah’m not… A’ye mean……yes tough girl….I got it.”

Marianne pressed a kiss to the side of Bog’s head, stroking soothing patterns over the back of his neck. She still had so much to learn about goblin culture and their needs, but she wasn’t about to give up. No, this had only taught her that they needed to get better at communicating. Softly the fairy began humming, feeling the tension wrought frame slowly start to relax as she kept true to her word and didn’t try to move away from the embrace. She would spend as long as it took to convince Bog that she wasn’t going anywhere, that she hadn’t been scared away. After all, that’s what you did when you loved someone. You fought to stay by their side and she was nothing if not a fighter.


	4. Cracked Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little dabble for the odd jobs au.

 

An advantage of working outside on a multistory building on a rather rickety platform was the lack of people. Even when it snowed, hailed or was blistering hot Boggan King didn’t need to deal with the great number of imbeciles that he observed both in and outside of the establishment. He was nearly invisible when he worked which at a height of 6’5 and being graced with the face of the cartoon Ichabod crane wasn’t a usual occurrence for him. Being able to just ignore the rest of the world for a while was….very nice.  

Humming softly under his breath, Bog dipped the squeegee into the sudsy water and stretched up his long arms, placing the cleaning tool at the top of another window along the row of glass panes that made up the level he was currently working on. For once, he was actually hurrying just a little, because it was Wednesday. And that meant that a floor above the new interior decorator would be returning to her office soon.

The first time he had even known that the building even Had a new decorator was a month ago. The commotion had started on her floor and transferred down through the levels in a wave. Bog, who was only at the second floor at the time had been close enough to see a little spitfire of a woman in a purple pinstripe suit that looked Unfairly good on her literally throw a blond Disney prince poster boy on his ass out the front doors.  The fairy had dusted her hands, petite features twisted in a grimace of distaste as she turned her back on the spluttering man and had sauntered back into the building with a mocking ‘bye bye’ directed backward.

The window washer had swallowed convulsively, fighting down the heat that had pooled in his cheeks at the sight of the feisty woman and her well-tailored outfit and her husky voice. Shaking his head, the tall man had tried to get his mind back onto work, but all his efforts had gone up in smoke when he got to That window. The one that gave him a view straight into her office and the sight of her in all the snarling angry glory he had seen before.

Now every Wednesday he would wash her level of windows at the same time, and every Wednesday he would be graced with another uninterrupted view of a part of her routine. She had never noticed him and it was somewhat of a relief. He didn’t know if she would think it coincidence or not that he was there every week, but if her reaction would be unfavorable to his presence Bog didn’t really want to find out.

Hurrying as he was, the worker didn’t notice that the window he was aiming for had opened above his head. The only warning he got was a shadow, and when Bog raised his face with a confused expression he was met with a shockingly cold deluge of water, flowers and finally the heavy thunk of a glass vase smacking full force into his nose and forehead. With a bellowing curse the man went down, rough unintelligible gaelic spewing from his lips as he felt the liquid soak into the overalls and tee shirt he had worn for work that day.

Couple that with the now throbbing ache in his face and the fact that he could feel flower stems being crushed under his ass on the platform put Bog into a right foul mood. Snarling under his breath as the vase slid between his legs with a dull thunk, the scotsman dashed water and smashed flowers from his eyes to glare hatefully up at the still open window. Grabbing the chains that attached to the pulley system he yanked hard, sending the whole contraption surging upward until he was level with the open glass.

The office he was staring into didn’t really register as the angry worker snatched the vase from the metal floor and slammed the cracked glass down on the window ledge. Feeling a few of the flowers still sticking to him Bog gathered them in his fist roughly and shoved the pink and red blooms back into the container, levering the full force of his soggy ire into the room.

“Ah’ believe this is Yers. Wha’ on earth possessed ye to Throw this out tha’ window!”

Marianne stared, open mouthed at the man she had accidentally wounded when she had pitched the overly sappy and romantic bouquet out the open window. There were broken petals from primroses and lilies alike adorning the top of his soaked head and he looked rather ridiculous standing there in a nearly translucent white shirt while wrath poured off him like some sort of avenging demon.  

The sight of blood starting to trickle from a cut on the strangers prominent nose jolted the decorator from her stupor and she gasped, grabbing the box of tissues from her desk before he rushed the window.

Bog reared back in alarm as the small sprite of a woman charged him with an oddly determined look in her eyes. The worker was half convinced she would try to shove Him from the window next before he felt gentle fingers pressing a wad of tissues to his aching face.   
  


“You’re bleeding.”

He sputtered then, his cheeks flushing a deep pink that matched the flowers still in his hair. His hands fluttered, uncertain for a few long moments before he finally pressed them into the window sill and held on tightly.

“Don’ change tha’ subject! It’s dangerous to just throw heavy objects like that into thin air from this high up! What if that had hit someone dahwn on the street.”

Marianne felt shame flow through her as he considered what the window washer had said. It was true that there were pedestrians walking down there. She had simply let her anger get the better of her and the loss of her temper was slightly embarrassing.

“Sorry for chucking it on you. I’ve had a bad day and the utterly disgusting attempt at winning me back by my ex involved the horrendous flower arrangement you ended up wearing a few moments ago.”

Bog peered at the small woman from around the pink tinged tissues that were pressed to his face. He remembered the blond from the first time he had seen the woman and a slight quirk tilted his lips.

“Ya mean that poncy twit from a month ago don’t you. Tha’ was an impressive throw.”

Marianne felt her own lips twitching in the beginning of a smile. She had been rather proud of the eviction she had given the green eyed scum, but Roland was nothing if not persistent.

“You were there for that huh.”

Bog nodded the motion dislodging the others hand and when the tissues came away heavily spotted in blood the decorator winced slightly. There was a thin cut spanning the bridge of the others nose and a bruise forming over one eye, but it seemed to be the worst of the damage.  

“It…doesn’t look too bad. Could have been a lot worse. That thing was pretty heavy.”

The window washer shrugged, the heat not abating in his cheeks at all as Marianne inspected his face. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hide in the nearest hole now that his anger had passed or leap for joy that the woman was talking to him.

“Yer a tough girl, that’s for sure. If you’d really been trying my skull probably woulda caved in.”

She winced at the mental image, leaning against the windowsill now with the bloody tissues still held in her hand.

“I don’t know….your head seems pretty sturdy. I think it might take more than some glass and flowers to do you harm. I’m Marianne by the way.”

The automatic response he gave nearly had him wishing to smash his face into the clear glass and finish the job that the vase had started. His mother had told him multiple times that he tended to revert to snarky grump whenever he was startled, and the fact that the woman he had been…admiring for some time was just casually chatting with him after dropping a vase on his head definitely counted as something out of the ordinary. As it was, his voice was quiet and more than a little hostile as he spat out his name.

“Bog.”

Rather than be perturbed by his gruff manner however Marianne merely seemed….intrigued. her smile was more of a smirk when she answered the worker, her amber eyes snapping with an amused fire.

“I don’t know if I Want to know if that’s your real name or if I want leave it some mystery. In any case…Bog. Why don’t you come in here and I’ll find you something Not wet to wear and we can have lunch. It’s the least I can do after nearly killing you just now.”  

After a few moments of shocked silence he swallowed convulsively and gave a short jerky nod. It was a simple thing to pick up the vase and sling one of his long legs into the room. Bog fidgeted with the cracked glass for a minute until Marianne gestured for him to just put it down and directed him into a leather seat while she ran out to grab her guest something to change into.

And that was how every Wednesday at half past one the pulley for the window washer stayed parked outside an open window and the interior decorator ended up having company for her lunch break.

The cracked vase ended up finding a home on a bookshelf, with fake purple flowers tucked into the imperfect glass.


	5. Supermarket's and Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Potionless prompt fill yay! 
> 
> prompt: i saw u at the store and we barely know each other but u smiled and i got so distracted that i ran into a can display and they all fell on me and now i’m in the hospital and u brought me ~FLOWERS~

He blamed the stores large and free of advertising windows. Usually those things were cluttered up with posters or oversized toys or holiday paraphernalia. But the clear, clean glass at the supermarket was sparkling as crystal and that what was in Sunny’s opinion what caused his accident. Not because of the sunlight itself that came crashing in to illuminate the store, but rather what that allowed brightness fell on.

The girl was personified light. With golden shining hair that was given a halo by the infiltrating afternoon rays. That brightness was what drew the shorter man’s gaze in the first place, but it was the smile that had transformed the already almost angelic features into something that couldn’t possibly be of the mortal realm that short circuited his brain.

The hand basket he was lugging about the store, filled with the average college student’s budget meal items was what toppled the display of canned goods. One moment he was staring awestruck at the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and the next his world consisted of pain and a very loud series of metallic crashes.

Groaning in agony, half crushed beneath a pile of preservative stuffed cylindrical weights Sunny tried to squirm backward to where he could see light peeking out of the mass on top of him. The movement strained whatever he had injured with his inattention to his surroundings and it drew a yelp from the small man.

Then, through the fog a high pitched but pleasant voice cut through and several of the cans were hoisted away from his face. Blinking dazedly up into florescent light, the college student felt his mouth fall open as his blurred vision made sense of the face that was hovering over him.

Blue eyes filled with concern met his own brown orbs and a slender soft hand reached into his metal prison to cup his cheek. As the ringing in his ears started to abate Sunny caught the tail end of whatever the angel was saying to him.

“…..Hear me? Oh no I think you might have hit your head pretty hard. I’m going to call the ambulance ok? Don’t worry about a thing; everything is going to be alright.”

Seeing little comprehension in the dark eyes of the poor trapped man, Dawn whipped out her cell phone and dialed the number quickly. When the operator picked up the girl quickly gave the address and situation, her other hand fishing around her pocket for the flashlight she always kept on her keychain. Once she knew that the response team was on its way she turned her full attention back to the afflicted.

“Hey, can you look at me? I’m Dawn…I’m a nurse in training and I’m gonna help you. You might have a concussion so don’t try to move alright?”

Working quickly but not moving him, Dawn started grabbing can’s and setting them off to the side. Luckily it didn’t look like the man was laying on any of them so she wouldn’t need to worry about jostling the displays victim too much.

Sunny wasn’t sure that he hadn’t passed out from the accident and that he was currently in some sort of head injury fueled fantasy.  When the soft palm cupped his cheek again he swallowed heavily. It wasn’t until the bright beam of the flashlight hit his eyes that the fact that this Was reality sunk in. Groaning at the pain that the intense assault of fake light Sunny tried to turn his head away, but the admonishing cluck of the angels tongue stilled his movements.

“I’m sorry I know it probably doesn’t feel good but bear with me ok?”

Dawn checked his eye reactions and frowned slightly. There definitely was a chance of a concussion. Hopefully it wasn’t anything more serious than that though. The wail of the ambulance cut off any further examination, but the blond girl knew that she wasn’t ready to just watch the response unit carry the man away and never find out what happened to him.

So it was fortunate that when he was loaded onto the stretcher his wallet fell onto the ground. Dawn scooped up the leather square and was about to call out for the men to wait, until she got an idea. She would just return it to him at the hospital.

Of course getting in to See her poor avalanche sufferer when she wasn’t family was a chore. But since she had to wait for friends and family visiting Dawn decided to put the time to good use. She went shopping for flowers. She stopped off at the nearest shop, which looked kinda dark and scary on the outside but inside had a real nice vintage kind of gothic feel Dawn knew her sister would love.

The employee fit the feel of the place to a T as well. Tall and thin and with the grumpiest look on his face when she said she wanted something as a get well soon bouquet. But as Mr. tall spiky and sullen helped her put together an arrangement from the sparse array of bright flowers, including sunflowers forget-me-nots and baby’s breath along with some other nice compliments Dawn felt herself warming to the man.

She left the shop with her bundle of decidedly bright and cheerful flowers, tucking the name of the place into the back of her mind for later. Dawn was nearly bouncing in her shoes as she waited for the elevator to ding at the right floor and her excitement to see the man’s reaction to her gift only grew as she approached the room he was put in to recover. When the door opened she strode in, her face partially obscured by the large array of flora.

“Hi again! You dropped your wallet when you were being taken out of the store and I thought I should return it to you….and I thought these might cheer you up!”

Dawn placed the glass vase down on the side table with a triumphant thunk, turning her bright smile on the gaping inhabitant of the bed. She sat down in the chair and picked up the chart that had been left at the foot, quickly reading over the list of injuries.

“I…you didn’t…..you’re the…..”

Sunny was sure his face was about to combust. Not only had the angel that had inadvertently caused his accident come to see him, she had brought Flowers. And now she was sitting in the chair next to his bed like she didn’t have anywhere else better to be.

“You’ve got a concussion like I thought… oh ouch and a couple cracked ribs. That’s going to take some time to heal. I know! Why don’t you give me your number so if you need any help you can get ahold of me?”

The only thing that he could do was nod. Bewilderment and delight were fighting for space inside his head and Sunny wasn’t sure if he was still hopped up on the pain meds. However as he looked at the bright sunshine girl sitting next to him, sincerity radiating from her face he couldn’t find it in him to protest. The best thing that had ever happened to him might have just occurred, and he had clean supermarket windows to thank.  

 


	6. Carols through the walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas butterflybog prompt fill! 
> 
> I combined these two for this. 
> 
> i am apartment sitting for a friend and firmly plan finishing my thesis in peace, but the walls in this building are paper thin and so i keep getting distracted by the pleasant singing voice coming from the apartment next to this one. the only downside is that they keep singing christmas carols. 
> 
> okay so you are the obnoxious, arrogant jerk from the apartment next door, but damn, what is this divine smell coming from your apartment? cinnamon and apples? cranberry? are you a pastry chef? or just really into baking?

For the 4th night in a row there was the soft but maddeningly distracting sound of Christmas carols coming through the paper thin wall of her sister’s apartment. The only reason that she knew it was in fact the songs of Christmas were the familiar tunes attached to the constant renditions. The words weren’t anything she was able to understand. The Scottish accent didn’t really help things either.

The only thing that she could really get behind was that it was starting to grate on her nerves. Marianne loved Christmas as much as the next person, but hearing the old favorite songs essentially Crooned out in a low throaty voice in some language that was probably Gaelic  for nearly a week would wear down anyone’s patience.

Even worse was the plethora of utterly mouthwatering smells that kept drifting in from the open window every night. It was like the guy never stopped Baking. Cinnamon and apple, maple and nutmeg, strawberry and mint, chocolate and caramel. Every time it was different and it was  maddening that Marianne didn’t know what kind of pastry was creating the scents. She could imagine a whole gamut of them as she worked in a small bakery but the not knowing was driving her as insane as trying to ignore the sexy neighbor’s voice to work on her college thesis.

She hadn’t ever even Seen the man for goodness sake. He was mostly a quiet guy, kept to himself and didn’t make a lot of racket late at night either. But from the hours of 6 to 9 every evening that dammed singing would start and then the tempting baked goods smell would waft in from the fire escape.

When the tune of silent night started up for the second time that thursday evening Marianne had finally had enough. Slamming her textbook down and raking her hand through her hair savagely, the petite woman stalked into her sister’s kitchen and yanked open the cupboards. If that was how the mysterious sexy-scot baker man wanted to play things then she would fire back with both barrels.

Muttering under her breath, Marianne started the dough for her retaliation. When silent night ended she let a smirk cross her face as she filled the silence. There was no sound from the other room as she kneaded dough and let the verses of ‘last christmas’ float into the room. Then on the third verse her alto voice was suddenly supported by resonating tones from the room over and the college student had to suppress a laugh as the song became a duet.

Setting the dough to rise Marianne grabbed her choice of fillings, a few cuts of meat and several herbs and potatoes and set to slicing them as the last notes floated away into the evening air.  Swallowing slightly, her cheeks flushed the woman cast about for something else to sing, suddenly not wanting to stop the challenge she had thrown down.

Then through the wall instrumental music swelled. A grin of delight lit up her face as she recognized the version of the song that he had on the ipod that was stuffed into her purse. At the right moment Marianne let her voice rise to match the tune, the words to carol of the bells resonating between the two apartments as their voices swelled and harmonized.

By the time that her pie was tucked into the oven to bake they had gone through several more songs and all the ire that she had previously felt had simply melted away. There was a portion of silence where Marianne waited to see if her mysterious new partner in singing crime would pick up another tune. The other side of the wall kept up the lack of music until after she had pulled the large meat pasty from the oven and set it to cool.

Setting the pie on a large plate draped in the most cliché holiday towel Marianne walked over to the front door and yanked open the wood, only to come face to chest with a grey and green sweater and an upraised set of slightly knobby knuckles.

Blinking in shock she raised her gaze up and up to meet an equally surprised set of impossibly blue eyes. The two neighbors stared at each other for several long moments, each taking in the baked goods held in hands and the appearance of the other. Marianne was the first to break the silence.

“You’re Not what I was expecting at all.”

Bog swallowed his eyes wide as he stared down at the fierce looking little sprite of a woman before him. His grip shifted nervously around the pie he had brought over and his shoulders hunched slightly before he retaliated.

“And I didn’t expect a wee little spite like yerself to have so fine a voice.”

Marianne snorted, leaning against the doorframe as she looked up at her sister’s neighbor. Slowly, a smile pulled at her lips and she jerked her head into the depths of the apartment.

“Why don’t you come in? I brought a pretty decent bottle of booze with me that we can share. I’m Marianne by the way, Dawns sister.”

With that she turned and sauntered back into the living space, hearing the hesitant shuffle of her company enter the doorway. She had a feeling the rest of the week was going to be interesting. After all it wasn’t very often she met someone she actually might like, repetitious singing aside.

The festive holiday wreath on Dawn’s front door gave a merry jingle as Bog disappeared into his neighbor’s apartment. From across the hall Sunny shook his head ruefully from where he had been peeking out of the peep hole to observe the exchange. It had only been a matter of time before those two were going to clash, but he was glad it seemed to be with baked goods instead of fists. Fishing out his phone as the sound of laughter floated through the walls, Sunny sent a text to Dawn to let her know about the new development.

That year’s Christmas had just taken a turn for what Sunny hoped was the better. After all, everyone deserved to be happy with someone around the holidays.


	7. Don't go where I can't follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haha I'm sorry but I'm not. Have some spicy salsa angst for you. Blame abutterflyobsession because of her awesome art school au angst dabble she put out. The pain is spreading.

It had been meant for her.

One moment the queen of both the fairy kingdom and the dark forest was walking the stone hall on the way to the dining hall with a visiting noble from another kingdom while her father and sister trailed behind with a few others. The next her world was obscured by the spiky mass of grey and brown scales that made up her husband’s chest.  Marianne was smooshed up against the wall, her legs tucked up against her torso to make her as small as possible. She could feel Bog’s thighs under her butt and his arms were wound around her tightly enough that her ribs were starting to ache.  

A deep rumbling growl rose from the armored body in front of the fairy, shaking the air around her. When she tried to squirm back enough to lift her head and see what had triggered her goblin’s protective instincts so badly the monarch was dragged back down with a single jerk and ended up with her cheek pressed tightly against Bog’s rough chitin exoskeleton.

“Bog? What’s wrong?”

Her question prompted a shudder from the curled form of the dark forests king, and slowly the goblin loosed one of his arms from around the fairy. He reached behind him, his long limb disappearing from Marianne’s sight. His shoulder twitched and an oddly slick sound emanated from the area. The queen’s hazel eyes widened in horror as the knife dropped from her king’s hand to land with a clang on the cold stone floor.

The weapon was serrated and covered with blood nearly half way up the blade. The fact that it was Bog’s blood registered only dimly to her stunned mind, and the fairy clung to her goblin love in horror as she felt him shifting beneath her.

“The weasel threw it at ye Marianne. He meant to Kill ye.”

Bog was starting to shake now. His wings rattled and his shoulder plates began to spread. Gathering his legs under him the goblin took off into the air holding his wife, doing a quick flip that landed him beside the shocked fairy king. Thrusting his queen into her father’s arms, the ruler of the dark forest shook his head sharply to try and clear the fog that was descending over his thoughts. The sound of the would be assassin’s voice spiked his anger however and the attempt he had made to stave off his instinctual reaction to having his mate in danger failed.

“Well I suppose one royal dead is as good as another.”

A bestial snarl echoed through the hall and a collective gasp went through the observing fairies as the goblin king lurched across the length of space separating him and the restrained assassin. Bog picked the man up in one hand and slammed him against the wall, his blue eyes clouded in a veil of red. He was puffed up as large as he could be, the plates constantly chattering in a menacing clatter as his talons dug into the soft flesh of the fairies vulnerable neck.

“You Dare to come into this kingdom and threaten my wife. I knew that there was something off about you the moment you stepped into my sight, and I think it’s about time we weeded out the rest of the vipers that came with you.”

The entrance to the large ceremonial dining hall bounced off the wall as Bog strode into the well-lit space, dragging the fairy male along with him. Shocked faces of different visiting species from various kingdoms met the monarch’s gaze as he cast his eyes around the inhabitants. Seeing two faces pale with clear signs of surprise was enough for the king and Bog only needed to point at them for the guards to spring into action.

Dragging the foiled killer to the middle of the room, Bog lifted the wretch effortlessly to his eye line and held him there, the useless scrabbling at his wrist by the fairies blunt nails doing little but irritate him. Once he was sure that he had the attention of everyone, his brogue thickened voice rung out into the silence.

“This pile o’ slime just tried to kill tha’ queen. The penalty fer such an attempted crime is death. Any accomplices tha’ haven’t given themselves up in the next two minutes will join this craven blaggard in the afterlife when they are found.”

Ignoring the choking splutters from the dead man hanging in his grip Bog cast his eyes over the surrounding delegates once more. Off to the side his queen and family were watching, Dadga and Marianne’s face’s grim but understanding. The fairy king had a hand placed over his heirs. He would not stop the goblin in his form of justice and neither would any of the guards. Regicide was taken very seriously, and anyone who tried to harm his daughters would be made examples of.

Seeing as no one was stepping forward Bog turned his full attention back to the slowly suffocating fairy as he felt a sharp pain in his arm. Another knife was stabbed into his limb, much smaller than the first but still enough to sink into his flesh. Growling, the goblin yanked the weapon from his exoskeleton and shook the fairy just a bit before his talons broke skin and shredded the assassin’s throat.  Dropping the scum to the floor, Bog planted a foot on the flailing males chest to keep him in place as he bled out, not moving until he was sure that the other was truly dead.

The scent of fear was thick in the room now as the king raised his eyes to lock gazes with one of the two others that had given themselves away as part of the scheme. The angry rumble rose in his chest again and the goblin stepped over the corpse, bloodied claws raised in preparation to deal more death.  

Marianne let her husband place a set of score marks into the clearly terrified nobles cheek before she stopped him. Moving up behind her king, the fairy placed a gentle hand on Bog’s arm, her voice a quiet murmur. She had been told by Griselda what she needed to do if this happened again, after the first time she had sought help to allow her to pull her love from his primal rage.

“Bog, enough. We need them alive to question. I’m alright, see?”

The goblin turned his head at the sound of her voice, sending a threatening snarl at the bound traitors. He scooped her into his arms then, turning so that he was between the men and his mate. Burying his nose into her neck, Bog inhaled deeply, some of the tension slowly draining out of him as he felt slender but calloused fingers stroking over the scales on his head and over the back of his neck.

Marianne breathed a sigh of relief when slightly muggy blue eyes met her gaze as the king pulled back from her embrace. It always concerned her when Bog slipped into that savage state, but at the moment she was grateful for it. A powerful message had been sent that night, one that would hopefully forestall any further attempts at the throne. You didn’t mess with the royal families of the light and dark kingdoms. Not unless you wanted to die.

Dagda stepped in then, seeing that Marianne had Bog calmed. His voice held steel when he looked at the noble’s party to the attempt on his daughters life.

“The dungeons. The deepest we have. Marianne, I’ve sent someone to notify both healer Thyme and Lousewort if you wish to take Bog to the infirmary now.”

A trail of blood had slowly been making its way down the goblins back for the duration of the encounter. Nodding hurriedly, the queen slung her arm around Bog’s waist and led him from the room, two guards from each of their kingdoms hurrying alongside them as the royal couple left.

In the coolness of the stone hall, away from the crowd the odd burning that had been radiating from the stab wound began to make its presence known to the goblin. His vision, which had never really cleared from the haze, began to swim and Bog felt his feet stumble. His balance gone, the monarch pushed himself away from the fairy to land with a thump against the nearest wall.

“Bog??”

Marianne was beside him in an instant, her face creased with lines of worry as she followed his slow slide down into a sitting position. The king lifted a shaking hand to cup his queens face, forcing his lips to curve into a smile even as black began to encroach in the corners of his eyes.

“Don’t forget… to make the announcement tonight love. Your family will be so happy.”

The fairies hand automatically went down to where her slightly rounded stomach was concealed by the petals of her formal wear as tears pooled in her eyes. She placed her husband’s palm where their child was growing, her grip tight.

“You’re going to make it with me remember. You don’t get to skip out on the hugs Dawn’s going to give us both. You promised.”

Panic began to grow in her chest as the fairy watched lids begin to fall over impossibly blue eyes. She looked around in frantic hope that the guard who had rushed off when the king hit the wall would be back with a healer, but there was no one in the hall but the three of them. Biting back a sob, she turned her attention back to her husband and gave him a little shake, hoping to jolt the monarch into full wakefulness once more.

“Hey stay with me ok? You can’t fall asleep right now…BOG. Don’t you dare. Look at me, open your eyes. Bog…..Bog!”

Small calloused palms cupped thorny cheeks as tears began to fall, and Marianne felt her heart tear itself to pieces as she knelt on cold stone and tried in vain to get her king to respond to her pleas. The hall echoed with the queens half sobbed demands as two healers rushed through the passageways with bags clutched in their hands. When they arrived the fairy had her brow pressed to the slack one of her love as keening sobs shook her frame.

Wet, half choked words were a repeated mantra as she felt gentle hands pulling her away. Dagda tucked his daughter into his chest and let her beat her fists on the metal of his armor, his face pale as the healers swarmed the limp form of his heirs husband. He did not shush her, or offer words of comfort. The echoed pain of when he lost his own wife was a still throbbing wound hidden in his heart; reminding him that platitudes did nothing to help dull the agony of such a lost bond.

He did not know how long he stood there with his daughter held tight, watching the frantic work of the two healers. The king was only pulled from his daze when there was a clearing of a small throat somewhere down by his waist. Dagda looked down at Lousewort with resignation in his eyes, awaiting the news he already knew. However the slightly harried but much relieved expression on the goblin’s face sent a small pang of hope through the monarch.

“The king yet lives, though barely. He must be moved into intensive care and isn’t out of the woods by any means, but we were able to identify the cocktail of poison that was used on the blade and gave him a measure of a counteractive.”

Marianne went boneless in her father’s arms, a relieved and slightly hysterical laugh escaping her. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, the queen bit back a hiccup as she watched the guards bear Bog away on a stretcher. After a few moments she broke away and swiftly took a place beside the group as they walked, threading her fingers into the still ones of her love.

There was no way she was going to be further than five feet from her king, not after thinking that she had lost him, that he had traveled to a place she could not follow. Marianne tenderly stroked her fingers over a sharp cheek, sniffling slightly in the wake of her tears.

“You don’t get to scamper off so easily you idiot. When you wake up, you and I are having a long discussion about self-preservation and effective protection measures.”

She pressed a kiss to Bog’s forehead then, moving out of the way of Thyme as the fairy gently prodded her queen aside to check her patients condition. The royal couple wasn’t going to be broken so easily, they had many more adventures to share. Including the one that would be showing up approximately twelve months in the future. Marianne started crooning a soft lullaby as she sat on the nearest cot and watched the healers work, her hand absently rubbing over her stomach. The story of the light fields and dark forest was just beginning, and she would be sure to tell their child just how brave and protective their father would always be.   


	8. Blood and Lipstick Stains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The delightfully talented suzie-guru on tumblr gave me permission to dip my toes into her delightful 30's nightclub mob boss au. So have this and enjoy! Also, check out her beautiful series 'all that jazz' as well for the original delight.
> 
> If you guys want to hear the song I chose for Marianne to sing here it is. :3 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBGDg9w5AtI
> 
> As well as a link to 'all that jazz' and suzie-guru's tumblr. 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/249763
> 
> http://suzie-guru.tumblr.com/

“You must remember this; a kiss is still a kiss….”

Sparks of red light were thrown into the air as she moved across the stage. Slow carefully rehearsed steps making the bright spotlight gleam over the fabric of the new dress she had chosen for the occasion. A deep burgundy so dark it was almost black, but turned at the right angles and fire flashed across the expanse of silky smooth cloth.

“A sigh is just a sigh….but the fundamental things apply…”

Hers was a sirens voice, cutting through the smoke to wrap itself around the hearts of the listening patrons. A beautiful thing to behold, but deadly if you couldn’t keep your distance. The daring four inch heels, wine red to match the lipstick she wore gave Marianne enough height so that she didn’t need to quite hop to get on top of the piano. Sliding one leg over the other to give the patrons a glimpse of shapely legs encased in black stockings the chanteuse arched her back as she let the notes of the song float on the air.

“As time goes by…and when two lovers move, they still say I love you…”

Amber eyes, made all the more vibrant when framed by dusky makeup sought out one form in the shadows beyond the stage. There, tucked away in the corner was the big bad boss man himself, watching over the evening. The pulsing, faint glow of his cigarette lit up one half of the lean face she adored and Marianne allowed her hands to slide across the ebony expanse of the piano top as softly as a whisper.

“On that you can rely….no matter what the future brings…”  

Blue eyes met hazel as the woman tilted her head to one side, exposing the long pale column of her throat to his smug gaze. She had needed an extra coat of makeup to cover the marks he left on her skin, but just remembering the wicked way his lips and teeth and tongue had coaxed those bruises to the surface made it worth the trouble.

“As time goes by…moonlight and love songs never out of date…”

Her fingers barely skimmed through the carefully settled hairdo she had spent a good while on that evening, a flirt with soft locks before her hands were flitting away again. Sunny was doing a marvelous job that evening, a small smile on his face as he watched the blue blood sing her heart out to the moderately sized crowd.

“Hearts full of passion, jealousy and hate…woman needs her man and man must have his mate….”

There was a quick flash of eye contact there again on that line, and from the side of the bar Stuff had to hold in a resigned sigh. How people missed the fact that those two were utterly head over heels for each other she had no idea.

“That no one can deny…It’s still the same old story…”

Marianne spun herself on the top of the large instrument then, settling in a reclining pose with one cheek cupped in her palm. She loved this, the lights and smoke, the entranced faces of the patrons and especially what her performances did to a certain Bog King. Her lips fought to pull into a less sultry and more delighted smile as she caught sight of the mobster’s expression. Oh it sent a thrill through her to know just how easily she could affect the hardened and feared man.

“A fight for love and glory…a case of do or die.”

As if it had been waiting for those exact words, the spell that the chanteuse was weaving over her audience was shattered as a bullet crashed through the front window of the club and embedded itself into the dark wood of a chair.

Chaos erupted in an instant, every member of Bog’s crew that was there leaping up with guns drawn as the Dark Forest was invaded. The moment that it dawned on Sunny just what was happening the small man grabbed Marianne’s wrist in a fierce grip and dragged her off the stage, vaulting himself up on top of the bar dragging the singer with him behind the sturdy structure to hide from the violent fight that was taking place.

He had promised Bog that he would take care of Marianne if something like this ever happened, and as much as he hated the fact that it really Was, he would rather face the singers rage at being kept from helping his boss than have her potentially be hurt.

The furious roar of Bog’s brogue roughened voice cut above the crash and boom of further gunshots and several bodies hit the wooden floor with dull thumps. There was a great deal of clatter as furniture was ruined, but then a sudden silence like a shock of cold water fell over the whole establishment.  

Squirming out of Sunny’s desperate grip on her, Marianne peered out from behind the counter of the bar to a scene that made her blood run cold. Bog was standing in the middle of the half destroyed room, one fist curled in an unconscious rival lackey’s collar. The other was raised in the air, the pistol he held pointed harmlessly at the ceiling. His sharply angled face was dark as a thundercloud and there was blood on his cheek from what looked like a cut.

The reason for this surrender was the barrel of a gleaming colt that was pressed firmly to the back of the mobsters head. Bog was a tall man, taller than almost anyone Marianne had ever seen. So it came as no surprise when she followed the hand and arm down to a broad and sharply dressed older fellow to find that he was standing on his tiptoes in order to keep the gun’s pressure against Bog’s skull constant.

“Well now Mr. King, why don’t we all just settle down and have a conversation like civilized folk.”

The sound of grinding teeth was incredibly loud in the recurring quiet as the whole club waited with baited breath to hear the decision. It was beyond clear that the other man wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his rival’s brain if he refused, but the leader of the Dark Forests mob group was notorious for getting out of bad situations.

As if he could feel her gaze out of the multitude that was pinned on him in that moment, Bog’s eyes flitted to the side and locked with the worried hazel of his singer. Marianne was gripping the side of the bar with a white knuckled grip, fear for the mob boss racing through her heart like a wild fire. A few tense moments of silence went by, but then something in Bog’s face shifted just a little and a horrified gasp escaped her lips as she processed what he meant to do.  

“Fine Ferrel. Let’s have tha’ conversation.”

The older man smirked and the expression was full of triumph when he stepped back to gesture with the gun.

“Very good. Why don’t we take a little walk to the back of this hole in the wall where we can talk nice and private. My boys will keep an eye on yours. Any funny business and there will be a few more people making nice with the fish in the bay tonight.”  

Two of the bruisers stepped forward to clamped meaty hands onto Bog’s arms and the slender mob boss was hustled out of sight in a few short moments. Ferrel looked around the club with an air of the deeply satisfied, his eyes lingering on the furious hazel gaze of the singer he had heard so much about for a few moments before he sauntered after his boys.

When one of the men came around to round up the patrons and workers of the Dark Forest, Marianne stepped out from behind the bar with all the grace of a queen. When one of the lackey’s tried to lay a hand on her to herd her in with the rest of the girls the chanteuse was quick to step out of the way, her icy glare stopping the taller male in his tracks.

She could see Stuff leaning against one of the broken tables with what looked like Thang’s jacket pressed to her shoulder. The tweed fabric was mottled in deep red and she could only hope that the wound wasn’t as bad as she could imagine it being.

Glaring daggers at the rival mob members and pacing the floor could only take up so much time, and three hours later Marianne was reaching the end of her patience. Worry and fear had been building in her gut the entire time, a bone deep dread she couldn’t shake filling her with a restless energy. She had tried to keep as low a profile as she could, but dressed to the nines as she was and with how hair trigger her temper was she had already put the fear into a few of the less stalwart of the invading men.

Inside the booze storage section of the club were four men. A semi steady drip of blood was creating a puddle on the concrete floor, the hot liquid slowly congealing as it slid down the thin mob boss’s chest. Bog was breathing lightly, his jaw clenched against the pain as the razor sharp blade dragged another bright red line down an unmarked part of his flesh. The cuts were becoming sloppy now as the wielder of the knife became more irritated at the lack of reaction from his victim.  

His grin was full of blood and savage confidence as the older boss drew back with a disgusted huff and tossed the weapon to the floor with a clatter. Ferrel glared down at his rival, wiping his stained hands on a dark handkerchief.

“Well King, I’m impressed. It seems your reputation wasn’t exaggerating. You and I both know however that this doesn’t end until you give me what I want.”

Bog spit a mouthful of dark iron tasting blood to the floor with a sneer. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his jaw ached from the punches, but his anger was a good shield and it hadn’t failed him before.

“Yer out of yah mind if ye think that I’ll just let you have that poison you call a drug. The damned trouble this area had with that sludge ten years ago still hasn’t cleared up and I’ll not be letting a piece of scum like yerself use it.”  

Ferrel sighed heavily and shook his head. Without a word the older man turned and left the room, gesturing for the two lackeys’s to follow him. Bog was left to stare after him in confusion, until a very familiar sound had panic sprouting in his chest.

The click of the store room door had her heart leaping up to her throat. The two bruisers exited first, their faces almost bemused. Following after came the mob boss she Didn’t want to see, and the spattering of blood on his previously pristine white shirt had the color draining from the blue bloods face. The fact that his expression was utterly frustrated didn’t help the growing anxiety in her heart, but Marianne could feel that fear turning to rage even as the slightly bugged out eyes of the older man sought her out in the crowd.

“You, girl. Come with me.”

The fact that they left the door open didn’t leave any room for doubt as to just where she would be going. Marianne didn’t even bother replying; she simply strode forward across the debris strewn wood and allowed the mobster to direct her into the room.

She barely held in a gasp when she caught sight of the state Bog was in. the first thing that the singer noticed was the volume of the blood that had escaped his wounds. Deep cuts, some crossing right over the tops of others placed over his slender chest and shoulders were still oozing. Bright pink burn marks from what looked like cigarette stubs littered the expanse of Bog’s throat, and his face was mottled in dark bruising.

“Don’t want him passing out too soon. Go clean him up.”

A bar rag and bowl of water were thrust into her hands, and stumbling only once Marianne strode forward. Her eyes were locked with Bog’s horrified gaze as she stopped in front of him. Tied as he was the mob boss was nearly eye to eye with his singer, and he barely flinched when the wet rag started to swipe at one bloodied cheek as gently as she could make her shaking fingers function.  

Neither of them said a word, an unspoken communication passing between their eyes. Bog was utterly terrified. He knew the kind of man Ferrel was, and he didn’t want him anywhere Near Marianne. If the cretin got even a hint of how important this woman was to Bog there would be nothing he could do to protect her.

The cut on his cheek stung fiercely as the warm water washed over it, and Marianne had to stop herself from cupping the other side of Bog’s face soothingly. Any weakness that was shown would be used, of that she was sure. Hypersensitive to her surroundings as she was, the movement of the older mob boss held her attention in an instant. His words chilled and warmed her to the core in equal parts. Pride for Bog and a slowly dawning realization as to why she had been brought in to see him waring in her heart.

“You always were an honorable little twit King. So protective of your girls…so set on sticking to that code of conduct that lets a beast like you masquerade as a decent man. Well, if you have enough power…no one stops the fox when it gets into the hen house.”

He yanked Marianne away from the other man by her hair. Ferrel shook the chanteuse like a child would a doll, an ugly smirk creasing his features when the woman’s slender hands reached up to claw at his wrist.

“Let’s see how tough you are when it’s your molls pretty neck on the line.”

A string of increasingly foul curses erupted from Bog’s mouth and his whole body lunged forward, stressing the bonds that held him back. Fresh blood spilled from the wounds in his chest as the violent motion broke what scabbing had started, and the sheer fury burning in the mobsters blue eyes would have been enough to make a lesser man piss themselves.

As it was, Ferrel simply laughed at the attempt and wound his fingers tighter into Marianne’s hair. She was silent and still, her face locked in a blank expression. That shield was shattered when the sound of a zipper broke through the air. The chanteuse gasped in shock when the straps of her dress began to slide down her arms, her hands flitting up to hold the fabric in place as she twisted in the man’s hold furiously.

“Not much in the way of tits, but I have a hard time believing that you haven’t fucked this little tart into the floor by now Mr. King. After all, with a voice like hers….I bet it sounds rather divine between the sheets.”  

The punch caught him on the chin. Stumbling back from the force of the blow, the older man didn’t let go of his hold in Marianne’s hair and dragged her with him as he hit the closest wall. The chanteuse could have been spitting fire she was so angry, her hazel eyes flashing fire as she tried to get her dress pulled back up.

“Don’t you Dare touch me!”

Ferrel snarled angrily and pushed himself away from the wall, his hand transferring from her hair to her throat. The mobster slammed the slight woman against the rough wall with a solid thump, his heavy set face set in deep angry lines as he towered over her.

“You’ve got spirit missy. I can see why my associate likes you. But I don’t tolerate whores acting like you do.”

Leaning down, the mob boss shoved his free hand down the front of Marianne’s dress and slammed his lips onto the singers, a pleased chuckle escaping his throat when the woman began to struggle in earnest against him.

“Ferrel! Leave her out of this. You want the damned drugs fine! But don’t you lay another finger on Marianne.”

The older man’s lips were stained red from her lipstick when he pulled back, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

“I hadn’t thought the rumors were true Mr. King, but it looks like you’ve finally found a bit of hind end to warm your bed after all. How much are you paying her I wonder?”

Before Bog’s face could fully finish twisting in disgust at the sheer idiocy of the question the other boss gave a shriek of pain. Marianne’s wine red four inch heel was jabbed into the older man’s thigh, and when the mobster lurched away from her she didn’t let him get away.  

Slender fingers hooked into the collar of his shirt and yanked hard, bringing the heavier man to his knee’s before her. She gave him two seconds to stare down the barrel of the pistol she had pulled from her well-hidden thigh holster before she pulled the trigger. The shot rang thunderously loud in the small room and the chanteuse barely flinched when blood spattered over her cheek.

Bog stared in shock as he watched the blue blood drop the lifeless body to the floor and scoop the knife that had been discarded earlier up from the floor. He didn’t say a word as she cut his bonds and handed him Ferrel’s gun. Her face was blank but hands steady as the sounds of a new fight broke out beyond the locked door in response to the shot, and Marianne was utterly calm as she pointed the weapon at the wood entrance when there was a scuffling against it only a few short minutes later.

When Thang’s nervous voice rang out from the other side it sent a wave of relief through both the occupants and slowly tension began to bleed from the slight woman’s frame.  Bog watched her with concern then, noting the paleness of her face and the slight glaze in her eyes.

“Boss? Are you and Miss Marianne alright? We’ve taken the club back and rounded up the surviving men from Ferrel. What do we do now?”  

His knee’s wobbling answered the question, though Thang couldn’t see it. Marianne could however and she grabbed for the mob boss as he gave a pained grunt and started to sink to the ground.

“Thang. I’m going to need a complete medical kit. He’s lost a lot of blood. Also, someone needs to inform Griselda if she doesn’t already know.”  

There was the sound of a panicked squeak and then pounding footsteps away from the door. Now that the danger had passed, the singer could feel her hands starting to shake. Hoping to stave the panic attack she knew was coming off; she grabbed Bog’s hand in her own and held on tight. Cataloging his injuries came next, anything to keep her mind off what had just happened.

“You killed for me tough girl.”

Bog’s voice was soft and pained his grip gentle where hers was nearly bruising in its strength. It was so close to his nightmares come true, the raid that had finally happened. It would only be a matter of time now before Marianne fled and didn’t return, and rightfully so. No girl should have to endure what she did, do what she did. Especially not for of the likes of him.

The sight of him alive, breathing before her and mostly in one piece was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. Marianne collapsed forward with a dry laugh, tears welling in her eyes but refusing to fall as she clutched to the front of Bog’s ruined shirt and tried not to put pressure on any of his wounds.

“Of course I did you idiot. I… love you…..you stupid self-sacrificing pinecone. You knew damn well what would happen if you just surrendered and you did it anyway! Why…”

Bog winced slightly when she landed on him but wrapped his arms around the slighter woman anyway, his heart filled to bursting at her admission. He pressed aching lips to the top of her head in a gentle kiss, fingers rubbing soothing patterns into her skin through the back of the dress.

“Because I couldn’t risk that fight continuing and you getting hurt.”

Marianne was tempted to hit him, but the feel of tacky blood under her hands stopped the thought. He was hurt enough without her adding to the list.

“And look what happened to you! I can take care of myself, remember?”

Bog spared a glance for the corpse that was laying in the corner of the room.

“Yes tough girl, I remember…”

“You need to let people Help sometimes Bog. I know that’s probably a bit rich coming from me, but if I can try then so can you. Promise me you won’t do something like that again just to keep me from getting hurt.”

The mob boss swallowed heavily, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He didn’t want to do it, knew his instinct to protect the wonderful fiery and beyond brave woman in his arms would always want to override his actions. But she was also shaking from the shock of the nights events and in desperate need to feel like the both of them could be Safe, so he did the only thing he could.

“I promise.”

His reward was an only slightly trembly kiss, small soft palms cupping his stubble roughened cheeks. It made his split lip throb, but the fact that he was still alive to receive the kisses made any pain worth it.

“Good. We need to get you to a hospital before your mother shows up. If you try and fight me on this Bog I’m going to knock you out and drag your sorry carcass there myself.”

The threat of his mother seeing him in such bad shape was enough to convince the mobster that the hospital wasn’t a bad idea. That coupled with the fact that he was starting to go blurry around the edges of his vision.

The faces of the front desk secretaries when a well-known leader of one of the most powerful mobs in the country was brought in looking more than a little half dead; leaning on a tiny pixie of a woman with at least five other members of his crew behind them was something that Bog wished he had a camera present for.

As it was he hated that he had to be separated from Marianne when he was admitted, but the promise that she would be there when the doctors were done stitching him back together eased the ache in his heart. After all, he knew that he wouldn’t need to worry about anyone trying something like that again any time soon. He had sent the living members of Ferrel’s attack party out into the streets as an example and a warning. Each member of the rival group had the word thief carved into their foreheads, deep enough to scar.

When he woke up from the anesthesia, groggy and with the odd numb floaty feeling he hated about the drug, there was a small hand clasped in his and the sight of a messy brunet head tucked near his hip on the hospital bed. Marianne was still in her chanteuse dress and there were tear marks and specks of blood on her face, but she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  

“That’s some girl you got there Bog honey.”

Griselda was standing at the foot of the bed watching her son and his sweet heart with misty eyes. The older woman set two cups of coffee down on the side table and cupped Bog’s cheek, her voice as quiet as he had ever heard it.

“Fierce as a wildcat that one, kept those nosey nurses from causing a ruckus and the police from putting men outside the door. If you don’t hold onto her then your three kinds of a fool.”

Bog curled his fingers around the slender digits with the gun callouses and chipped nail polish with a tender smile. He was too tired to bother denying anything, and the fact that Marianne was still there at his bedside said far too much to ever be hidden from the knowing eyes of his mother.

“I culdn’t keep her if she didn’t want tah stay if I tried. And I wouldn’t be the man yeh raised me to be if I did attempt such a thing. I…don’t think you have anything to worry about though. I have it on gaud authority that I’m worth fighting for.”

Griselda smiled and patted her son’s hand gently, seating herself in the empty chair on his free side. She had seen the spark between these two the first time she met the chanteuse singer, and she was beyond ecstatic that her boy was happy again. She watched over the pair as Bog drifted back to sleep, humming under her breath to ease his way. For now all was well, and that was what counted in the end.

 


	9. Waltzing the Waves part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A loosely related and not following a specific timeline set of dabbles in the Selkie au I started months ago. Hope you enjoy!

The fur is warm and silky in his hand, the pale light of a full moon illuminating the rough rocky pathway down to the cove where the woman waits. There is a limp to his gait, a dark splash of something on his cheek where he was cut, and his lip is aching fiercely at the split caused by a drunken fist. Still, his prize is heavy where it is clutched in his fingers, neatly folded as he left the tavern in bitter victory. There is no joy that night to be found in his heart, instead a deep seated pain that winds its way around his chest and squeezes like a vice.

There, seated on a smooth rock worn by countless tides, is his love. Moonlight paints her skin in shades of blue and silver, wind ruffling short hair around her shapely face. She wears a billowing shift, the only clothing that she can stand when she is close to the sea. Wide golden eyes are staring into the horizon, watching foaming waves as they crash on the shore before her. The sea is a sirens song to them both, and he knows he will lose her to it that night by his actions.

Indecision churns in his gut, a roiling living beast that eats away at his thoughts and jumbles his emotions. He is unbearably selfish, wanting to keep her when she has already been chained by another and he has the power to release her. It’s a simple transition to change the ownership, cruel in its indifference and utterly binding. He had beaten the idiot who dared first steal the coat in a flurry of fists and anger. Rightfully by the law that governed her, she was his now. The proof of that lay in his hands, warding off the chill of night and wind.

And yet he looks at her and see’s the pain in her eyes. Has seen it each time they have met at the shores and watched the waves. The one time he had coaxed her to tell him of what she had been taken from had left him so shaken by her grief that he had not dared to ask again. Her haunting song still echoed around his mind whenever he looked to the sea, and yet even knowing her anguish he still thinks of keeping her.

There in that moment he is truly a beast to himself as he makes his way through the rasping sand and holds the pelt that represents everything he has ever wanted closer to his chest.  He is close enough now that she has noticed him, her slender form leaving the rock and preparing to step forward and greet him. The smile on her face makes his self-loathing rise sharp and painful in his chest, he does not deserve that look.  Something must warn her of the impending encounter because the selkie stops before she can reach him, hesitancy entering her posture and unease twists her features.

Bog makes an effort not to tighten his grip again as he also stops moving, the two of them standing just out of arms reach on the cool sands. Her eyes travel his features, taking in his lip, the cut and the deep sadness that hoods his eyes. He notices the instant she recognizes what he has, her eyes lighting up in fierce joy for a single instant before suspicion floods them.

She Looks at him then, the only sound the rushing of the waves at their back. He says nothing, throat working uselessly as he drinks in the sight of her standing beautiful and untamed before him. There is anger rising in her eyes now, a twist to her lips that suggests a sneer of disappointment and disgust. It is the betrayal blooming in her expressive features however that decides his actions, tips the scales and breaks his heart in one fell swoop.

His voice is soft, barely above a murmur as he holds out her coat, the heavy fur lying in his open palm; gleaming dully under the light as he offers his prize.

“A wild thing should not be caged.”

Shame coats the tone, resignation layered in every syllable. Yet he cannot regret his decision when she reaches for her skin, wary hope chasing away the more negative emotions from only a few moments ago. There is a slightly manic gleam to her eyes now and he draws away from her, unwilling to test his restraint as he watches her gaze bounce from the beckoning waters to the long lost treasure in her arms where it belongs. There are no words as she strips the human garb from her body and flings herself into her own pelt with a reckless impatience, her legs already beginning to propel her forward.

Bog does not watch her depart. His back is turned, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans as he listens to the rasp of bare feet on sand and the sudden splashing of the selkie entering the water. He does not look back as he climbs the hill with its rough stone pathway, knowing that the beach is as empty as his own heart. Ahead, high on the cliffs above the ocean, his little cottage sits dark and silent, waiting for him to enter. Alone no longer sounds pleasing when he mouths the word, now only loneliness will be there for him when he treads the paths he knows so well.

He does not bother to light a candle when he closes the door behind him. The moonlight still suits his mood even as its soft glow kindles the hurt inside his soul. His flute is sitting by the hearth as he passes it, set there by careful fingers when his had grown slack from shock when she had kissed him. The duet of instrument and voice were a part of the very walls now, sunk in by the sheer happiness that he had felt in her presence. Silently Bog placed the carved bone into its container and closed the lid. The time for music was past. He needed to focus on his work now, not what had and could have been.

Hours later, when the moon was at its peak; far below the cliffs in the rolling waves of silver blue, a dark sleek head broke the water’s surface. Pale gold eyes stared at the empty beach for a time, flicking up to the dark smudge of the cottage for a single instant. Then the form was gone, racing back to the depths in gleeful abandon. There would be time later to return, for now there was simply the joy of freedom and wide open spaces and of coming home. For the unprecedented had happened that night, a selkies coat returned to her willingly when it could have been kept. And that choice made all the difference.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudo's are love and Comments are life. I may be doing a fic gift give away soon because to my utter shock I have almost 50 followers now. Once I hit fifty I will do a give away. 
> 
> Until next time my lovelies!


End file.
